Ink
by Fainmaca
Summary: A short fic delving into the history of our favourite tattooed biotic. Ever wondered what some of Jack's tattoos stood for?
1. 1: The Girl With No Name

**Author's Note: Just thought I'd take a brief couple of hours to write something a little different. This is, for now, a one-shot. However, I may do a few more chapters if there is enough demand for it. I have a couple of ideas for different chapters. Basically this fic is meant to tell the story behind certain tattoos Jack has. Enjoy.**

**Inks**

**One: The Girl With No Name**

Harsh artificial light beats down upon my tightly clenched eyelids, shining through them to show me an angry red roadmap of blood flowing through the flesh. I stifle a groan as I turn away from the light, trying to avoid being blinded when I finally do open my eyes. The last time I protested against the sudden awakening they thrashed me with their cruel batons, striking my face until my eyelids were puffed up too much for me to even willingly open them. They had then taken great pleasure in guiding me into objects I couldn't see, putting me through tests that would have been difficult for those who still possessed their sight. Their laughter echoes in my head as I rub one eye tiredly.

"C'mon, Zero. Time for 'breakfast'"

The harsh guard has no name, or at least none that I have learned. In my mind, I take to calling him 'Wrong-eye', thanks to the lazily drooping left eye. The left side of his mouth is always twisted downwards in a perpetual frown, his right side moving all on its own.

'Breakfast', as Wrong-eye calls it, is a series of sudden, sharp pains in the small of my back as needles as long as my finger are jabbed into the muscle there. I resist for a second as two strong hands grab my shoulders and try to force me to lay down face-down, but a baton strikes the back of my head, making the room reel. The next thing I know, the faint pains of the injections vanish, but are replaced by an all-encompassing pain as an even bigger sliver of metal is forced into the bone marrow of my spine, the pain so intense that the scream that tries to tear its way out of my throat is locked in place. Muscles lock up, refusing to allow air to move into my lungs or for my eyes to even blink to clear the floods of tears that blind me. Through the roaring agony, I hear Wrong-eye mutter something that he finds immensely amusing, followed by his guttural laughter as he leaves by the door he came in through. I do nothing but lie there in agonising torment, too sore to even roll about in reaction to the pain.

Eventually, the pain fades from paralysing to merely unbearable. I finally release the scream that has strangled my throat for so long, enjoying the feeling of deflating my lungs so completely. Once I run short of breath, I draw in yet more air to release it in the primal roar once again. I remain absorbed in this activity long after the pain goes away, chasing it away with noise like a tribal villager chases a wild beast away. Maybe if I scream long enough, the pain will never return.

Finally, my mind grows fuzzy, robbed of oxygen for a little too long. I stand unsteadily, taking a couple of dizzy steps. The first thing my gaze falls upon is my desk. A small smile tugs at my lips. My desk. Mine. The surface is overflowing with pictures, all hand drawn. Most of them are the pretty blue lights I can summon. I draw the different shapes I think of when I want the lights to do different things. The rolling wave, like a mass of water spilling from my cup across the desk, capable of blasting anything out of its way. The bubble, a shield that I try to use to keep the guards away. It never works, though. I always get tired and they put me back in my bed. I tried drawing something else, before, but the guards just took it away and tore it up. After that, I got mad. I made the lights chase the guards away. One of them fell, his arm bent in the wrong way. But then I got tired and they beat me. After that, the scientist in charge told me I could only draw if it had something to do with what they were doing to me. So I draw the lights. But I still have a couple of little bits of the first picture, two corners and a middle bit that one of the guards dropped. When I'm supposed to be asleep, I pull them out and put them together in different ways, imagining the picture that used to be there.

I go over to the desk, grabbing a bit of paper and some pencils. I slide under the desk and start to draw. My mind spinning, I draw a long, jagged tear across the page. I picture how it would work on a guard, ripping him in half like that guard ripped my picture apart. The thought makes me smile, a warm feeling flowing up my fingers and toes until it reaches my heart.

Some time later, 'breakfast' takes effect. A fire starts in my spine, spreading through all of my bones. My fingers go stiff, while my vision narrows until I can only see a small tunnel in front of me, the rest of the room replaced by blackness. I cry out as I try to crawl back to my bed, my limbs not working right.

Moments later, the pain vanishes, allowing me to stand. It is at this point that I look out of the window for the first time. I gasp.

The world is full of people! Little people, small just like me! Guards move about among them, watching over them. The little people cluster together, mouths moving in a semblance of talking. Some paly with toys, some draw, others sit and think.

I pound my fists on the glass, trying to draw their attention. None look up or even glance in my direction. It hit the glass even harder. I howl out, trying to get one of them to even look in my direction. My fists begin to turn red and purple, bruising from my attack on the window.

Suddenly, just when I had almost given up hope, a girl looks up at the window. Her brow creases in curiosity, and she stands. She walks over to the window, and I stop pummelling the glass. My eyes moisten as she stops in front of the spot where I am.

She tilts her head to the side. I wave. She tilts her head the other way. I mimic the action. She pulls a face, tongue sticking out of her mouth while one eyebrow lifts up and the other one stays still. I laugh and try to copy this, but cannot get the eyebrow to move. I settle for sticking out my tongue as far as I can.

She lifts a hand to the window, moving a fingertip across it slowly. I follow with my own finger, mirroring her actions. Finally she places her palm flat on the glass, and I do the same. I can almost, almost, feel the warmth of her skin through the glass. I smile at my new friend. Eventually, slowly, she does the same.

All of a sudden, one of the guards is standing next to her. He grabs her roughly by the shoulder, hauling her away. All around, the guards begin laying into the children, thrashing small bodies left and right with their batons. One points at me, shouting, and then returns to beating my friend, the girl with no name. I flinch in fear as the door behind me opens, allowing the scientist to walk in. He looks at me, looks at the window and the scene beyond, and then back at me with flat, empty eyes.

"Come now, Zero. We have work to do."

**~o~0~o~**

The next day, I awoke to see the children again. I pounded on the glass, trying to get their attention again. Not one of them looked up. I kept going until my fingers cracked and my hands bled, sobbing as frustration and loneliness gave way to despair.

My heart leapt as I caught sight of my friend, but she avoided looking at me, her face remaining fixed on the floor. My attack on the window gained new fervour, but no amount of screaming or punching could get her to look at me.

My heart thumps in my chest as I slump against the glass, leaving a trail of blood where my hands touch it. Tears streaming down my face, I move back to my desk, slip underneath it, and sob.

The door hisses open, allowing the scientist to enter once more. He looks at me, regarding my tear-streaked face with scorn.

"Why don't they look at me?" I ask him. Surprisingly, this is one of the few occasions he answers.

"Because they despise you, Zero. You got them hurt yesterday."

"I didn't do anything!" I protest. Did I? Did I do something that hurt the girl with no name?

"Yes, you did." He contradicts me. "And now they hate you. They never want to look at you again."

My heart shivers weakly in my chest, a crushing weight pressing down on it, as he forces me to stand, eager to get on with today's tests.

**~o~0~o~**

The next day, I look out into the rest of the world, but there are fewer children. I look around anxiously, but the girl with no name isn't there. Where is she? WHERE IS SHE?

I try beating the glass again, but nobody looks at me. I keep trying, every day, always ignored. I never see my friend again.

In a fit of rage, I storm over to my desk one day, retreating under it. I grab one of my pencils, and tear the sleeve off the medical gown I am forced to wear. I push the sharp tip of the pencil into my skin, leaving a black trail behind as I scrawl out an image on my own body. In minutes, I am done, and the girl's face stares back at me from my own arm. In places the skin has been pierced, allowing blood to flow freely.

The scientists took away my pencils after this incident, not allowing me to draw ever again. They wash off the black marks and patch me up with Medi-Gel, but they never quite manage to make the angry red marks go away.

**~o~0~o~**

Subject eighty-six never understood why the guards got so angry at her for playing with her own reflection. They broke her fingers, just to teach her a lesson, and then went about making sure every last child knew not to take an interest in the big mirror against the far wall. Even now, when all of the guards are occupied with the other kids, she is too timid to even glance in that direction.

The doors to the lab open, admitting the chief scientist and his aide. The scientist looks about with a stony glare.

"What's the next series of scheduled tests?" He asks his aide.

"First iteration of PergNim, sir." The aide responds.

"How many do we need?"

"Thirteen."

"Alright."

The two scientists walk among the children, inspecting them. They point to certain ones, and the guards begin separating them off from one another. Finally, the lead scientist points at Subject Eighty-Six. She trembles as she is led away with twelve other youngsters, leaving the lab. As she is guided away, she can't help but glance at the forbidden mirror, wondering what's in store for her now.

**~o~0~o~**

"Report."

The aide hesitates for a moment before responding to his superior's demand.

"The, uh, the PergNim experiments did not go as planned, sir. Subjects showed a considerable increase in biotic potential, but died soon after. Their nervous systems couldn't handle it."

"How many dead?"

"All of them, sir. The thirteenth subject, Subject Eighty-Six, died just two hours ago."

"Begin work on the next series of experiments. See if we can encourage adaptation to the modifications in the subjects." The lead scientist said coldly, completely unmoved by the loss of thirteen children.

"Right away, sir."

"Good. Was there anything else?"

"Yes, sir." The aide replied. "Collins wanted to inform you that the two-way mirror is working according to plan. Zero has shown the expected emotional responses, and he expects to start seeing the results of such emotional duress on biotic potential very soon."

"Excellent. Inform the Illusive Man of our progress."

"Yes, sir."

**~o~0~o~**

**~Present Day~**

The Normandy hums quietly, coasting through space. I sit one my cot, leaning back against the vibrating bulkhead with my eyes closed. It's… peaceful. Peaceful's good, for a little while. After that, it just gets fucking bo-ring.

The Commander's off on some suicide mission or another. Helping the Cerberus dickhead from the armoury sort out some daddy issues or something. I don't really care. All that matters is I'm not needed, so I get a couple of seconds to enjoy my own corner of the ship.

I open my eyes, looking about warily. I thought I heard… probably nothing. Maybe the bucket-head upstairs clomping about in that stupid suit of hers.

As my eyes rove about, they catch a shining metal panel in the wall. A strange thought whirling about in my head, I stand up and walk over, looking at my own reflection. For a moment, I am looking at the girl with no name, and she stares back at me accusingly.

You did this to me. She yells out silently, her sullen stare saying more than words ever could.

Self-consciously, I reach for my arm, rubbing the skin where the tattoo of a nameless woman stares out at the world. I remember the day I got that one. I wanted to make the red marks from my own pencils a bit more noticeable, and had that Salarian tattoo artist paint that image on me. Gave me a chance to do a better job than I had the first time around, while I was at it. Now, the Girl With No Name travelled everywhere with me.

The reflection continued to stare at me accusingly. I felt a knot of anger in my gut, and reacted without thinking.

With a scream, my fist flew out, boiling with biotic power. The panel crumpled, denting inwards and destroying the reflective surface.

There were hurried footsteps, and an opaque purple mask with two glowing points for eyes behind it appeared at the top of the stairs. Bucket-girl stared at me inquisitively.

"What the fuck are you looking at?" I yell.

"N-nothing." Her soft accent purrs. "I just wanted to make sure you were-"

"Get the fuck out of here!"

As the Quarian quickly retreats, I turn to stalk back to my cot, rubbing my arm subconsciously. My fingers run along the face of the friend I never knew. Locked in thought, I sit down and try to distract myself by looking through those files the Commander gave to me. Maybe I'll find what I'm looking for this time…

**Author's Notes: Hope you enjoyed this! It took me a little out of my comfort zone, as i've never written from first-person perpective before. It's also a challenge to get into the mind of someone as complex as Jack, especially in her childhood, something we only have her fragmented memories and a couple of vid recordings to tell us much about.**

**Please, let me know what you think, whether you'd like to see more, any criticisms and so on. Also, bear in mind I had the idea for this fic exactly two hours ago. I apologise if it isn't as polished as it could be.**


	2. 2: Icy Fingers Around My Heart

_Author's notes: Mass Effect, Mass Effect 2, Mass Effect 3 and all related characters and trademarks are property of EA/Bioware. Rated M for language, violence and suggestive themes._

**Ink**

**Two: Icy Fingers Around My Heart**

The shuttle was cold, too cold. She'd checked the atmospheric settings several times, but the shuttle VI insisted that this was as warm as it was possible to make the cramped space inside. Regardless, the tiny figure hunched over the flight controls shivered, goose bumps coating what skin was exposed to the open air.

She glanced around, taking in the sharp corners and dark spaces that now filled her life, none of them promising the safety or homely feeling she had grown to expect from them. As renewed tremors began rippling through her body, she rubbed her arms in an attempt to get warm, regarding the pale white skin warily. Images traced their way down her biceps, while the medical scars of her tortured past blazed across the pale ivory hide to declare a past sooner forgotten. Blood now threatened to hide these markings, a mixture of varying shades of red coating her forearms, dripping from her fingertips, clotting under her nails.

**~o~0~o~**

They were pressing in all around her, a motley array of knives, blunt objects and even a couple of pistols threatening her. Not that it mattered. She'd unleashed Subject Zero now, and the beast was baying for blood, any blood. She growled with almost feral hunger, her stomach churning in anticipation of the slaughter ahead. Already her mind was flooding with positive feelings she got when she let loose, a twisted gift from the Teltin facility.

With a flash, her biotics tore into the mob gathering around her. She flung one hand out, hurling a pair of her attackers into a wall hard enough to splinter their ribs, turning their innards to mush with barely a thought. The tang of blood filled the air, the scent of death, but it wasn't enough. Zero was loose, and she needed an appropriate sacrifice to sate her bloodlust.

The next few moments passed by in a blur of gore and violence, countless opponents rising up only to fall like wheat before the reaper's scythe, cut down before they could even lay hands on her. Blood spurted up from deep wounds, leaving her hands slick, warm and sticky. Some had even splashed across her face, running in tiny rivulets down past her nostril to sit on her top lip, matching the shade of her lipstick perfectly. As her face twisted in another bestial growl, the droplet was dislodged, finding its way past her teeth and onto her tongue. The iron tang sent shivers travelling through her core, a sensual thrill racing in her veins, causing her mind to soar on ever more intense highs. Zero revelled in it, craving more.

Then, just as suddenly as the surge in raw, primal emotion had come upon her, it vanished, replaced instead by the white-hot pain that suddenly tore through her. Agony screeched through her brain, but she could make no audible acknowledgement of the torment aside from a perplexed and indignant grunt. Like the beast she was, Zero retreated from the pain, leaving the other half alone to deal with it.

She looked down at the long, serrated blade that had pierced her, running through from her back to erupt out of her belly like some grotesque creature from a Twentieth Century movie. Her own blood, red like the fury that boiled within her, pumped out of the wound in massive, irregular spurts. Choking on a mouthful of bloody froth, her head rolled around so she could lock her gaze with the Batarian wielding the weapon, his grin cruel as he watched her skin pale while her lifeblood stained the deck.

**~o~0~o~**

She jolted at the memory, reaching down reflexively to her abdomen. Her stained fingertips stroked the smooth expanse of her belly, coming to an abrupt halt as they met the rough crust of Medi-Gel that had been hastily slapped over the opening. A rush job that any doctor would have been mortified to see, but the best she could do and nothing more than she needed. Shaking herself to free her mind from the memory of the pain, she glared with renewed intensity at the starfield visible through the shuttle's viewport.

**~o~0~o~**

The Batarian leered at her, revelling in watching her eyes grow dim and unfocused. His sharp teeth flashed as his tongue darted out to lick his lips, the promise of watching her die exciting him visibly. His breath was hot on her forehead, the scent of stale alcohol and rotting food caught between his teeth causing her gorge to rise. Was this it? Was she going to die at the hands of this sick bastard?

_Fuck no!_

With a roar that only she could hear, Zero crashed against the bars of the cage that was her skull, a juggernaut barely contained. Fuelled by her anger, her hatred, her fear, the creature Cerberus had built tore free of the blade, ignoring the sheer wall of pain this threw at her. The animal inside of a tattooed woman spun, fist slamming into the Batarian's grinning face before his expression even had time to slip. In the next instant she had a hold of the weapon, still dripping with her own life. Stunned as he was, the Batarian still would not let go of the blade. A rumble in her throat, Zero strained against his grasp, twisting the weapon and the hand that held it. Bones cracked under her relentless fingers, granting her additional purchase to angle the tip of the blade…

The Batarian howled as his own weapon pierced his eyeball, ripping the orb from its socket and tracing a long gash along his forehead. Batarian blood mixed with Human, the alien's attempts to resist Zero's strength fading as pain overwhelmed all other instincts. With the last of his resistance, he cast the blade aside, hurling it clear of her grasp. The eye still stared in shock and horror from just below the ragged tip of the weapon, glaring with pleading despair as Zero knocked the alien to the floor. A kick to the head with her thick-soled boots, and the Batarian was still.

Zero turned from this last enemy only to find herself facing a wall of enemies, each one clutching a gun with a determined glint in his eyes. All weapons took aim at her heart, too many for her admittedly prodigious power to keep at bay. Even so, Zero rallied in preparation for a death none present would ever forget.

Before the tattooed creature could lunge, a loud crack reverberated through the room, followed by a wet thunk as one of the Batarians collapsed, a ragged hole torn through his head from back to front. A blinding white light shone directly in Zero's eyes, making her flinch back.

**~o~0~o~**

She jumped in her chair, spinning at the sudden noise. Her first instinct was to lash out at the intrusive presence, destroying whatever it was that had disturbed her. That instinct soon quelled, though, when she saw what had made the noise. It was still trilling loudly, exactly where it had been when she clambered aboard, discarded on the sheets of the bed in what passed for the shuttle's crew quarters, a scant six-foot by ten-foot room almost completely dominated by a bed that could, at a pinch, provide room for two.

She froze, unwilling to approach that part of the shuttle. She hadn't not since… not since then. Not since that place. Not since _him_.

Her first instinct was to do nothing. Perhaps the noise would go away on its own, if she ignored it for long enough. Why couldn't she just be left alone?

She spun away, facing forward again. Still the beeping noise ripped through the still air. She bit her lip, trying to summon the will to resist. After five minutes, she began to drum on the armrest uneasily, leaving scarlet fingerprints in her wake. The drumming finger-beats slowly evolved into a steady thumping of clenched fists on fake leather, growing more violent by the second. She growled, placing her hands securely over her ears, ignoring the icy cold of her implant against her right palm. Even so, the beeping drilled right through to her core. Her eyes clenched shut.

"Shutupshutupshutupshutup…" Maybe the mantra would grant her the lonely silence she so craved.

She felt anger rising in her throat. Zero had begun to pace about in the prison of her skull. Her heart began to pulse, the roar of blood in her veins echoing through her ears. Blue fire began to dance across her skin.

All around the cabin, little objects rose into the air, borne aloft by some unseen force. They shivered, held in the grasp of this power. Suddenly they began to drift through the air, moving in slow, lazy sweeps. Panels rattled in the walls, wires shivered in their housings, and the very panels of the viewport vibrated with a low hum.

"Rr-agh!" The growling shout unleashed the building rage before Zero could rise up to swallow her mind, a trick she had learned long ago to keep herself in control.

All around her, the floating items suddenly dropped to the floor in a loud cascade, the clatter of their plummet to the floor echoing around the hull of the shuttle noisily. Last to fall was the beeping object, the impact causing it to descend into silence.

The sudden lack of noise struck her more profoundly than when she'd been putting up with the damn beeping. Her stomach lurched as she imagined that maybe she'd broken the device, prompting her to dart to her feet, rushing over. Her initial reluctance to deal with the device forgotten, she hurriedly scooped it up, retreating back to the pilot's chair.

She handled the datapad as though it were made of precious china, trying not to let her fingers leave bloody smears all over it. Tentatively, she pulled up its list of contents, instantly finding her attention directed to one file, the one with the most recent timestamp. Hesitantly, she opened the file.

The datapad flashed, the screen turning a solid blue before a holographic cube appeared above it. Inside of this cube of shaped light, a set of familiar features came into being, an image of a man's head and shoulders. He wore the sardonic grin she recognised all too well, his rugged features twisting around the smirk until his eyes gleamed with an inner humour that could find something worth laughing about in any situation. His hair, always kept a little long, had drifted over his left eye, partially obscuring his face, although the scars of a long, hard life were still plain for anyone to see.

"Jack." His voice was coarse, rough. It was his own damn fault, what with all those cigarettes he smoked, but she'd long since come to accept it as a part of who he was. Besides, she loved to listen to that deep tone, spending many a night nestled up to his chest just so that that voice could tickle her ear.

"If you're watching this, I guess it means I didn't make it back out…"

**~o~0~o~**

"Jack!"

She spun at the call, looking over the turning heads of the mob harassing her to see those familiar eyes, that knowing grin. Clad in the thick leather jacket and denim jeans that hid a surprising array of technical gadgets to keep him safe, he was currently clutching a rifle, smoke still rising from its barrel. Casually, he lifted the gun to blast another of the aliens. He waved behind him, to where the brilliant glow of the shuttle's open door waited patiently.

"Time to go."

Nodding, she turned back to the attackers, summoning a surge of power to launch herself forward in a deadly charge through their ranks. Startled Batarians were flung aside with barely a thought, a trail of carnage following in her wake. In moments, she'd bulled through, giving herself a clear run at the shuttle. She turned to him.

"Go." He ordered, jerking his head back in the direction of the vessel. "I'll be right behind you."

"What the hell are you doing?" She demanded, raising her voice over the chattering gunfire that raced their way. "Where's the score?"

"Gone." He grunted. "Couldn't move quick enough with that cargo module strapped to the shuttle."

"What the hell?" She spluttered, anger rising in her chest. "Then this was all for nothing? You… you… asshole!"

"Better to come back from a wasted trip than not come back at all." He said firmly. "Now get the hell out of here. I'll cover you."

She growled angrily, but a volley of fire striking her barrier stopped her from fully venting her frustration on him. Instead, she spun, picking up a Batarian with her biotics and slamming him into the ceiling, then back into the floor, then into a couple of walls until nothing was left of him bar a bloody smear. This done, she darted for the waiting shuttle, leaping gracefully into the open hatch and spinning, ready to cover his escape.

As she turned, three wet smacks reached her ears. She turned to the source of the noise to see him, standing out in the open with his back to the enemy, a dazed look on his face. He looked up at her, eyes unfocused as his gaze brushed against hers, then he looked back down at his chest, at the rapidly widening stain that encircled three sharp holes in his torso. Then, another shot struck him in the shoulder, sending him tumbling to the floor. She screamed his name, watching from the shuttle door as Batarians closed in on his prone form.

**~o~0~o~**

"Gotta say, I didn't think it'd be like this, taken out by one bad bust." His image chuckled, a weary, half-hearted attempt to lighten the mood. She wanted to respond, to echo his attempt, but the stone where her heart had been offered no help in the matter. Instead, she maintained her cold, bleary-eyed stare, unable to look away, unable to withstand the truth of the message.

"Then again, I guess nobody ever expects to go out at all, really." The mirage in her hands, the pale impersonation of him, shifted uncomfortably, throat bobbing as he swallowed. "I woulda liked to have got you that apartment on Deira, though. The one with the view of the sea and those flowers that you liked growing up the side of the building. Would have been a nice way to spend all our ill-gotten riches: you 'n' me, getting old together. Getting thrown out of that bar down the street every weekend." His image's eyes glimmered, echoing hers. "It's a nice dream, but I guess a dream's all we get together, huh?"

His echo turned from her, glancing at something outside of the recording's field of view. Sighing, he turned back. He paused, biting his lip for a second, hesitant to stop with more in his heart to share.

"If this works, and you manage to get out of there, make sure to keep on living. There's nothing more important to me than having the chance to give you a good life, Jack. Live it well, and live it fully. Don't waste your time regretting this. I know I don't regret a thing. Not one second, not one memory, not one broken rib." The image laughed at this before another distraction dragged his attention out of the recording's focus.

"Alright. I'm almost at, uh, you. Guess it's time to give 'em a show." He made to stand up, but then paused. "Oh, and Jack?"

She twitched at this, sensing that the message was approaching its end. She steeled herself, ready to face the finality of his next few words.

"It's been fucking amazing. _You've_ been amazing." He grinned wolfishly before the expression faded. "Goodbye, Jack. I love you."

**~o~0~o~**

She screeched in terror and anger as she watched the aliens crowd in, surrounding his body before she could even move. She tried to leap from the shuttle, to charge to his rescue, but Zero could see that the situation was hopeless, that charging into that mob would earn her nothing. The woman inside raged against the Cerberus creation, but could not overcome its cold determination to survive. Instead, her body froze in the hatchway, paralysed by her fear for him, unable to look away.

A Batarian strode forward, the one she had taken the eye from with his own weapon. The alien glanced down at the prone Human, then up at the screaming woman in the hatch of the shuttle. His mouth twisted, a feral glint sparking in his three remaining eyes. Taking up the weapon that had been turned on himself not so long ago, the Batarian knelt down, brushing his fellows aside to get at the Human on the deck.

She saw the alien reach down, lifting his head by pulling on the long strands of hair. The Batarian made sure that she could get a clear look at his unconscious face, the eyes rolling back in his head. Then, with a practised motion that he drew out much longer than was necessary, the alien brought the weapon's blade to the pale white throat and, locking his eyes on the young woman's horrified features, dragged the ragged edge across the vulnerable flesh, ignoring the crimson warmth that covered his hands. She screamed all the more loudly, despair crashing in on her mind. Then, with a jolt that surprised her, the shuttle responded to some kind of timed stimulus, lifting into the air and dragging her away. She clutched the edges of the hatch, staring out and down as the cluster of aliens receded behind her. The last thing she saw before the hatch slid shut was the Batarian wiping his blade off on the young man's clothing, turning away from the corpse with a look of disgust.

**~o~0~o~**

The datapad hit the nearest bulkhead so hard that it shattered into a hundred glittering fragments, the last remnants of its power sparking out of the torn ends of its wires brightly. Jack leapt from her chair, a scream of rage ripping loose from her throat and making the entire vessel reverberate in response. She paced around the confined space furiously, shaking her head from side to side in an attempt to eject the message from her mind.

How could he do that to her? How could he? As if she didn't have enough shit to deal with without him laying additional guilt on her shoulders. She could have handled dying. She could have handled being a prisoner of the squints. But now that asshole wanted her to live on instead of him? To make his sacrifice worth it? She seethed, these thoughts racing through her mind in a whirling blur.

After about an hour of this, her legs grew tired. She'd overextended herself, what with having to call on her biotics like that and then being injured to boot. Wearily, she shuffled her way to the back of the shuttle, clambering into the hauntingly cold bed. The tiny figure vanished beneath the covers, soon encasing herself in a cocoon that nobody could break into.

In the silence of the shuttle, quiet sobs could be heard, somewhat muffled by the blanket covering their source.

**~o~0~o~**

**~ Two Months Later ~**

Jack chewed on her lip as she leaned back in the chair, ignoring the dull heat coming from her chest as the tattoo artist went to work. The machine whined loudly, a grating noise that tested her patience, but she was stubborn enough to endure it. This was the fourth time she'd been to the Turian tattoo artist for this particular tattoo, and it was nearly finished. She'd be damned if she was going to put all that time to waste for nothing. Instead, she focused on glaring at the ceiling, allowing the Turian to put the finishing touches on the image.

Finally, after what felt like an impossibly long time, the alien sat back from his work, carefully putting his equipment away.

"There you are. All done."

She sat up, regarding her bare chest in the mirror he held up, hoping to earn her approval. There, now reaching out from the central point of a previously existing star-shaped tattoo, four skeletal hands pointed in different directions, two angling up and over her shoulders while the other two angled down towards her breasts. She regarded the mirrored image critically for a few moments, then sighed.

"Guess it'll have to do."

The Turian relaxed a little, unsure of what he'd have had on his hands if she'd taken a dislike to his work. He definitely didn't want to find out just how the aggressive little woman could let her displeasure be known.

"Great. I'll just get some Medi-Gel for your-"

"Keep it." She grunted. "I'm no pussy, I don't need it."

"But your-"

"I said: Keep it." Her teeth flashed around the words. With that, she turned to leave.

"Suit yourself." The Turian shrugged. As soon as she was out of his shop, it didn't matter one bit if she caught an infection. The sooner he could encourage her to leave, the better. But there was one thing that he couldn't quite let go of. "I have to ask, though- whhy hands?"

Jack paused in the doorway, considering turning to answer him. But then she realised that the alien probably wouldn't get it, anyway. He wouldn't understand how those hands, the ones curling up around her neck and the ones reaching down around her heart, belonged to a dead man. How she'd wanted to get them to outwardly express the way recent events had affected her inside, to maybe get those feelings out of her head so they'd stop bothering her. Not that it felt like it had worked. Even now, every time she blinked she saw his pale face, the blade sliding across his skin with just enough force to cut through it to unleash the blood within. Every moment she remembered the Batarian's cruel leer as he robbed her of the one thing she'd truly cherished, even though she'd never realised it.

With a grunt, she shouldered out of the tattoo parlour, ignoring the open stares flung her way as she strode through the filthy alleyway, still nude from the waist up. This was Omega, it had endured far worse things than a girl with her goods out in public. In moments, the tattooed woman had vanished from the main traffic ways, heading for the rarely explored shadows in the depths of the station. After a couple of minutes, she broke into a run, darting from hiding place to hiding place in her efforts to get to her current place of refuge. By the time she'd reached the abandoned shipping crate she called 'home', her freshly marked chest was heaving, Murtock's hands dancing in the dim light as she scrambled into this tiny refuge in the darkest corner of the Galaxy.

**Author's Note: Whew! This was an intense little piece to write!**

**Like probably most people in the fanbase, I feel that my favourite character of the series didn't get nearly enough screentime in Bioware's latest offering, so I felt like I needed to do a little something I could publish that was just... pure Jackness, nothing else. Anyway, I'll be getting back onto the main project now, no more distractions, I promise!**

**Fainmaca Out.**


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